


Starts With Them, Ends With Us

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pack Dynamics, Pack Family, Pack Mom Stiles Stilinski, Protective Derek, Scenting, Stiles-centric, Zombies, a lot of wolfboys being naked, really naked
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-03 04:11:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles tells stories from a world where the walking dead have changed everything. The chapters don't follow a chronological order, and can be read independently, but when read together tell a bigger story :)</p><p> </p><p>  <i></i><br/>Derek returned his look with a smile, the rare sort that made Stiles’ stomach twist up that combination of love and agony that only Derek could elicit from him. “You’re happy,” Derek said simply. “I can feel it.”</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Stiles smiled and let himself lean back, head resting on Derek’s shoulder, legs rising to the surface of the water. “Yeah?” He asked, even though he was well aware of how attuned Derek was to his emotions. Derek was holding on so tight, Stiles didn’t even have to bother to keep himself afloat anymore. “Is it a good feeling?” </i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>Derek nipped at his neck again, trailing kisses up to his ear and pushing his fingers against Stiles’ ribs so he would squirm in reaction. “The greatest."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Just pray in the night they don’t take your love_

_The hills are alive with the sounds of their guns_

_You’re getting used to ‘em_

-Dan Mangan

 

 

 

They long ago gave up on tracking the months, but Stiles best guess was that he cut off all of Allison’s hair in June or July. The Pit was sweltering, unbearable most evenings when they were drowning in not only the heat but the smell the each other’s body odour and rotting pipes. Some nights they would go above ground and take turns napping in the trenches dug out nearby, but the relief was mild at best, especially with the risk they incurred by giving away the location of their shelter.

Allison kept saying – and Stiles wondered now if she was really just hallucinating from the heat – that the old Rite Aid they had routinely ransacked through the years had a display of handheld fans. Little multi-coloured ones that ran on double-A batteries, stacked neatly on the last shelf on the right hand side of the fourth aisle, pristine, beautiful, _untouched_. Stiles had been dubious they still remained there, it had been a while since they hit that place but he supposed it wasn’t technically impossible. The strip mall had been almost entirely drained of its contents, but Stiles supposed many people wouldn’t consider a dinky piece of plastic worth carrying back to their own shelter. Especially not when you could be carrying food or something that might stop a festering wound instead. 

“We have those batteries, the ones we found in that camp when we moved last fall-” 

Some poor bastards who risked setting up camp above ground within a mere three miles from the entrance to the forest. Only half a mile from a fresh water source. Stiles would have scoffed at their laziness, but the sight of their mutilated corpses strewn across the site had kept him quiet. Lydia, who had been having at least an 8 out of 10 day, had thought to check pockets. They had found a Swiss army knife, two compasses and the batteries. Lydia was gold on those kinds of days. 

“We don’t even know if those things work,” Derek muttered at her, palming muddy sweat off of his brow. The heat was hell for Stiles, but compared to the other three, he, Allison and Lydia might as well have been on vacation. Some nights it got so bad that Isaac would throw up. Scott had blacked out a few times. 

“They could,” Allison said. “It’s worth a shot.” She smiled, pretty but firm. She was trying to play nice. Derek grumbled his response, but Stiles watched his eyes flit over to where Scott and Isaac were sleeping in a dirt pile in the far left corner of the Pit, completely naked. Most of the ground was carpeted with old towels and sheets and other scraps of fabric they’d come across, but even sleeping on that generally proved too much to bear for either of them. Clothing of any form was described as “suffocating”. Derek, and Stiles wasn’t sure if it was out of pride or just a feat of pure mental strength, generally managed to get by with a tattered pair of cargo shorts on.

“I know it’s not much,” Allison said softly. “It might seem dumb...and they’ll only but a little but it will be _something_. I just can’t watch them like that. I’m afraid that….” She didn’t complete her sentence. There were thousands of ways it could have finished.

“They won’t die from the heat. They’re uncomfortable but they won’t die. Do you understand?”

Allison’s eyes went sharp. “If it was Stiles blacking out we wouldn’t even be talking about this right now. You would’ve sent half of us up there.”

Stiles, who had been lazing against Derek, sat up rigid. Allison used this tactic when she wanted to play hardball and it made Derek absolutely livid, which is why, Stiles supposed, that she did it. 

Derek, literally, snarled. “Don’t start this with me again. Stiles is _human_. He dies _easily_. It’s different.”  Stiles internally declared offense at the use of the term easily, but there had a yet to be an instance when he didn’t regret stepping into one of these arguments.

It happened not long after they left Beacon Hills, back when they were still moving around a lot, building temporary shelters and then ditching them at the slightest indicator that things could go wrong. He had gotten some sort of staph infection, probably from not boiling water long enough, but his memory of the whole thing was pretty shoddy – he had been in and out of consciousness for five nights. Legend had it, however, that Derek almost killed them all with the lengths he made them go to in order to track down penicillin. Stiles hated talking about it, mostly because the whole thing made him feel like a total idiot, but also because the situation was constantly used as a point of leverage by Allison against Derek. 

“It’s bullshit,” Allison said, her voice rising in pitch. “You can’t expect me to sit around and watch–” 

“Baby?” Scott’s sleepy voice interrupted from the corner. “Wasswrong? You okay?” He fumbled up into a sitting position, dust rising with him, dark hair tangled and wild around his face. He looked feral, naked and filthy, skin flushed red from the relentless heat.

Allison’s eyes were set on Derek, gaze unwavering. “We’re fine.”

Stiles knocked his knee against Derek, soft and quick, hoping his message of _c’mon_ would resonate, but appear to Allison to be Derek’s own change of heart. Derek exhaled loudly, like the little touch forced all of the air out of him. “Okay. Fine. Risk it if you want. It’s a fucking four hour trip.”

Her face shifted, her smile suddenly bright and easy. Like they had been talking about dinner plans, like they were walking to the mall, like it was before and she wasn’t weighed down with a year of death and sickness.  

 

 

 

They left early the next morning, well before sunrise and before Stiles had really gained consciousness, though he remembered the soft hum of voices and the scuffing of Allison’s boots against the earth momentarily stirring him out of sleep. When he managed to fully awaken and wander out into the main space of the Pit, he could see that the bow, three knives and the shotgun were gone. Along with Allison and Isaac. The weapons took up a lot of room and their absence made the place seem almost vacant – as vacant as an unfinished fallout shelter housing six people could feel (Lydia had muttered “pitiful” when they first found the place and the nickname had sprung from there). Scott had been sitting in the spot where the weapons usually rested, arms folded tightly around himself, like was trying to fill the hole up.  He looked miserable, though for different reasons than he looked miserable yesterday.

Stiles yawned, rubbed some dirt out of his hair and plopped down beside him. Scott immediately leaned into him, though his skin was already hot to the touch at the early hour. His distress over Allison and Isaac seemed to be taking priority in his queue of problems.

“I hate this,” he said simply, voice muffled against Stiles’ arm.

“I know,” Stiles said. “They’ll be back soon.” 

Scott let out a quiet, sad moan in response and closed his eyes. A few moments later Lydia had wandered into the room, holding a freshly opened can of chickpeas. She extended it to Scott, with a gentle smile. Derek followed in behind her and Stiles caught his eye. Derek tilted his head towards Lydia and held up seven fingers.

Seven was pretty good.

Scott made a face at the can, but reached out to accept it. Stiles could not recall a time in his life when he did not know Scott, literally, his first memory was of his friend dividing blocks between them at daycare (red for Stiles, blue for Scott), but he had learned a lot about him in the past year. Like what a tremendous baby he was about eating things that weren’t on his short list of approved foods, which was mostly composed of things that were a derived from pizza. Scott had probably lost 30 pounds before he accepted that pizza bagels were not anywhere in their near future and if he didn’t eat the roots, plants and dead animals (and occasional canned good) they were coming across, he was going to die.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, pouring a small pile into his cupped palm and passing the can to Stiles. Scott shoved the whole handful into his mouth at once, trying to chew and swallow as fast as he could, screwing up his face in disgust. Stiles tried not to smile at his friend’s agony but it was hard to resist. He brought the can up to his mouth to try and hide it, but Scott was already glaring at him, jabbing a sharp elbow into his side.

“Hey!” Stiles protested as a few stray chickpeas dropped into his lap. “Waste not, man.” Scott grunted in response and swallowed, resuming his position against Stiles, eyes shut.

Stiles tried to spend the rest of the afternoon distracting Scott, which was impossible, but he gave it his best shot. Even Lydia tried to aid him, showing Scott the latest book Isaac had salvaged out of some garbage heap somewhere for her (“The Fundamentals of Fluid Mechanics”) but Scott couldn’t even be bothered to feign interest. He spent most of the time pacing up and down from the front of the Pit to the back, where Stiles slept, occasionally grumbling in Derek’s direction.

“Know what’s dangerous? Sending out two people. Two is dangerous.”

It was been after much debate, and a few terrifying encounters, they had determined that groups of two was their optimal number for small gathering missions. Always with one wolf – the roamers were put off by their smell – and generally one human. It depended on the mission of course: Allison was the best shot, Stiles the most adept at picking locks, and Lydia was really the only one of them who could navigate at all. However, sending more than two people out for gathering expeditions into roamer infested areas was too great of a risk for the group’s survival. It was a horrific truth that Stiles tried not to meditate on. It had also become apparent, following a mission last fall where Scott and Allison accidentally set the old corner store they used for supplies on fire, that it was best to avoid situations where “emotional decisions” might result. The rule was essentially created for Allison and Scott, but Stiles was not oblivious to the fact that Derek now all but refused to run raids with him. Though at this point, a year into it, Stiles was certain there wasn’t a single one of them he wouldn’t do something absolutely fucking stupid for. 

“Two is fine,” Derek replied to Scott’s complaint tonelessly, punctuating his statement with a loud _crunch_ as he bit into one of the roots they had collected.

“Two is fucking RETARDED,” Scott bellowed and Lydia, her manners still in tact even when living in a literal hole in the earth, flinched at his choices of words.

Derek, almost so quickly it appeared as a blurred motion to Stiles, flicked the end of the root at Scott, hitting his chest with a _snap_.   “Get it together,” Derek said to him. “Now.” 

Scott’s hand flew up to the spot, eyes lit up gold, teeth bared. Derek flew to his feet in response, his claws already out. Two full blown wolf fights in the Pit, one of which resulted in Lydia accidentally getting a bloody nose and Isaac crying in apology for like thirty hours, had been more than enough for Stiles. “Stop!” he yelled, scrambling up to get between them. “Go kill each other outside!” He tried to shove Derek back, but it was about as effective as shoving a brick wall. “I’m fucking sick of you both anyway!”

Scott’s face softened at the words, his eyes darkening to brown. He took a jerky step backwards. “Sorry,” his voice was low, almost inaudible. “Sorry, I’m sorry. I’m just…” He sort of crumpled onto the ground, defeated. 

Stiles still had his palm pressed against Derek’s chest and did his best to make his glare look severe. “I know antagonism is your default setting, but could you ease up a bit?”

Derek looked annoyed, but his claws had already retracted. Something in his eyes might have even bordered on contrition, but it was hard to tell, even for Stiles. Derek reached up and carefully wrapped his fingers around Stiles’ wrist, lowering his hand, and gently tugging Stiles closer to him. Derek studied him. “Your heart,” he said quietly. “It’s too fast.” It took a second to catch up with him, but Stiles faltered at the sudden rush of light-headedness. Derek tightened his grip and moved his hand to Stiles’ shoulder.

“I’m not going to have an attack, relax,” Stiles said, trying to edge him off. “Though, if I did, full credit to you two.”

Derek’s eyes flashed, the guilt was a little clearer this time, but his stern expression was unmoved. He ignored Stiles’ attempts to shrug him off again and half dragged him to the back of the Pit, past Scott who was making a pathetic sound that verged on whimpering. 

“You might hit your head again,” Derek said softly, bringing him to the tattered yoga mat and sheets Stiles usually slept on.

“I-”

“Hey,” Derek said. “I’ll take care of it. I’ll talk to him.” He touched Stiles cheekbone. That was usually the closest Derek ever got to apologizing.

Stiles exhaled, and sort of fell into Derek, who received him easily, arms circled around his back, heat blazing off of him, but both willing to ignore it. He pressed a kiss into Stiles’ temple and Stiles closed his eyes and tried to think of nothing else.

 

 

 

It was almost dusk and Scott had drifted into some sort of panic induced sleep, aided by Lydia reading to him aloud from her book (a brilliant idea, Scott had probably never spent a single physics class entirely conscious) when the thumping from above startled them all up.

“Wha-?” Scott mumbled, but Derek was already at the top of the ladder and pushing open the stone cover to the Pit aside.

Derek disappeared above and Stiles heard Isaac’s faint declaration of “DON’T PANIC!” which immediately made Stiles panic. Scott was already flying up after them and Stiles, in all his inept humanness, stumbled forward to grab two knives and hand one to Lydia.

“Get to the back!” He ordered, which she uncertainty complied with.

He heard Scott scream, something of a roar, but more agony than anger. Stiles breath caught in his chest and blood drained from his face, but he threw himself towards the ladder, knife in his pocket, and dragged himself up towards the fading sun.

What was left of the daylight stung his eyes when he reached the top, but he blindly grabbed for the knife, blinking rapidly.

Derek and Scott stood shoulder to shoulder, almost entirely obstructing his view, but both were completely still, making Stiles’ breath catch in his throat. Stiles could see Isaac’s hands waving frantically. Stiles pushed his way between the two, frantic at not having heard Allison’s voice. 

When he managed to make his way between them he saw Isaac, even paler than usual, eyes huge. “They just came out of nowhere and-”

Then, he saw her. She was bent over slightly, hunched, her face twisted in a way that Stiles almost didn’t recognize. Laughing. _She was laughing_. Laughing so hard that tears were edging out of her eyes, her bony shoulders shaking. Stiles blinked. It took him a second, but when his brain finally caught up with what he was witnessing, he saw her hair looked odd – even darker than usual, stiff and strange in shape. Like there was some sort of cast over it.  
  
He took a step closer and then the smell hit him.

“Jesus!” He gasped, stumbling back, jerking his head away. Allison reeked of roamer guts. The thick, black, oil like substance that oozed from their cavities whenever you took one out covered her hair, with dried streaks patterned across the front of her shirt and forearms.

“Oh my god!” Stiles marvelled and Scott wailed in response, prompting Allison to laugh even harder, actually falling to her knees.

“Is she-” Stiles looked at Derek, who looked, for perhaps the first time in his entire life, utterly and fully baffled. 

“She wasn’t bit!” Isaac said again, though from the way he spoke, it was clear to Stiles that the situation was not without its panicked moments for him. 

“Just a-“ Allison gasped for air, “just a fucking dumb shot! Roamer’s head exploded all over me!”

“We tried to get it off!” Isaac said again, nervously glancing at Scott who could do nothing but gape. “It seemed like the more we tried it….it just got like, stickier, more in there.”

Stiles shook his head in amazement. “It’s not….it won’t…” 

Derek’s expression had finally transformed back to its usual sombre state. “It won’t turn her. It’s just gross.”

Allison actually fully hit the ground now, literally rolling in the grass, her laughter echoing through the clearing that surrounded them. 

“Okay I think she’s losing it,” Stiles said, tentatively approaching her. “Allison? Allison we have to keep it down or-”

Allison clasped her hands over her mouth, to attempt to shut herself up, still rocking back and forth. Everyone else was frozen with bewilderment. Stiles scooted closer to her, trying not to breathe too deeply at the putrid smell that she was emitting. “Hey?” He asked tentatively. She had stopped rocking and was now flat on her back, fingers splayed across her face. Stiles gently touched the part of her forehead not encased in roamer shit, her pretty, pale skin, and saw that the violent shaking of her shoulders was no longer from laughter.

 

 

 

Derek didn’t give Allison any crap, possibly because even Derek was capable of surmising which situations might call for traces of empathy. Also because Stiles would have murdered him. 

They decided that they couldn’t bring her back into the Pit, they may have actually passed out from the smell, so Stiles gathered the rusty pair of scissors, the two knives, the bow, and teeny bar of soap was designated for emergencies (though Stiles had never imagined what a soap related emergency could be until now) and he took Allison by the hand and walked off into the woods with her, Derek in tow. There was a pond only three miles west, not safe for drinking in, but Stiles didn’t want to risk contaminating any of the water sources that they knew about with roamer innards.

Allison didn’t speak a word on their trek there, bow slung over her shoulder, gripping Stiles’ hand tightly. Stiles knocked their shoulders together a few times on purpose, using every bit of will within him to not flinch at her smell which occasionally wafted towards him. Derek followed behind them on the trail, but Stiles thought it was more to give Allison space from him than anything.

They reached the pond and Allison dutifully began peeling her clothing off. Stiles had a brief moment of contemplating how weird it was that it was so _unweird_ for his best friend’s girlfriend to be stripping in front of him without another thought.  Decency was a luxury from another time.

Stiles undressed as well and they tentatively climbed into the pond, only wading up to their waists, to avoid accidentally inhaling any water.  Derek stood on the shore, watching them intently, eyes darting off in response to sounds Stiles’ couldn’t hear.

It took, with his and Allison’s combined effort, half an hour to scrub the guts off of her arms and the back of her hands. Her skin was raw red and eyes wet with frustration when they were done. They hadn’t even gotten to her hair yet.

“Maybe if you lean back I can try and –”

“Forget it,” she said. “Just cut it off. Get it off me.” She tried to sound perfunctory, but her voice wavered. Stiles paused for a moment and then nodded, taking her hand and walking back towards the shore. Derek was already holding the scissors out to him. Allison sat on a rock, pulled her knees to her chest, and buried her face there, while Stiles inspected the now stiff mass that lay atop her head.

“I know it’s just hair.” She sat up quickly, whipping around to look at Derek. “I know you think I’m being soft and the whole fucking mission, we couldn’t even _find_ the fans and-” Derek shook his head and touched her shoulder.

“It was beautiful hair,” he said simply. “You aren’t soft.”

Allison’s face crumpled at that and she turned back to hide in her knees. Derek kept his hand on her shoulder and Stiles went to work.

 

 

 

There was nothing but starlight to guide them on their way back to the Pit, but darkness aside, Stiles thought he did an okay job. Allison, pale and sad, was lovely with hair cropped almost as short as his. Derek thought to bring the t-shirt Scott could currently not bear to wear, and it fell just far enough to brush against the top of her thighs. Not very practical, but at least she wasn’t wandering around outdoors naked. They would have to find her new clothes soon.

She flushed as they approached the entrance to the Pit. “Could we maybe keep the details about sobbing over hair to a minimum?”

Derek smirked and Stiles made the universal symbol for zipped lips.

“Just don’t tell Scott,” she said. 

“Whatever I’m sure Scott is _still_ crying over it,” Derek muttered, stomping a few times to indicate to the others they were above. 

Allison climbed down into the Pit last, looking tentative, but Scott scrambled over to her so fast he practically knocked Stiles out of the way.

He hugged her tightly, lifting her off the ground as she laughed and hooked her legs around his waist.  “I’m so glad you’re okay.” He buried his face into her shoulder. “I spent all day dying. I think I may have been actually dying.”

She smiled and leaned kissed the top of his head. “Sorry to come back bald,” she said softly as he looked up to study her.

“No.” He smiled and leaned up to kiss her. “Never say sorry about coming back.” 


	2. Chapter 2

_Don’t speak_

_Don’t speak until you’ve caught your breath_

_Don’t sleep_  
  
 _Don’t sleep unless you’re safe in bed_

 

Stiles understood what bone-tired meant. He was routinely destroyed by the daily war waged against them by the weather, their own unwavering hunger and the roamers that threatened to appear at every turn. He went to bed most nights aching and hungry, but he was blessed with the ability to sleep hard, Derek’s limbs tangled with his own. Stiles was thankful for that, it was probably what gave him the strength to pull himself up each morning and be ready for more of the same.  

The night after his Dad – Stiles’ breath hitched at even a trace of the thought, how he could still smell his aftershave and hear the way he would hum “Here Comes My Girl” when they did dishes – was gone, Derek and Scott had come looking for him. They hadn’t heard from Stiles for days and assumed the worst. They found his Dad in the kitchen, and ended up breaking open the hutch to the attic where Stiles had spent almost 48 hours barricaded. Derek says he was sleeping so profoundly they almost thought he was dead. Regular dead, the old fashioned kind.

Stiles faintly recalled Derek gathering him up, his breath hot against Stiles’ cheek as he repeated his name over and over and over, trying to wake him. Stiles hadn’t even been able find the will to even raise his head. His next clear memory was awakening in the abandoned apartment Allison and Scott had been camped out in for the last few weeks. They had lost their parents months ago. His Dad had held out so long, and they knew it was coming, they both did, but when it finally happened, when he was holding that shotgun that way his Dad had told him to –

Stiles could never get past that part. His head would start to spin, heart picking up speed with it. He did his best to quell those memories when they came up, all they did was distract him from the task at hand. He had a family who was still breathing and struggling around him and he needed to protect them. Every moment he was doing that, he could think of his Dad in a way that didn’t make him feel like his chest had been split wide open. 

When Stiles finally awoke in that apartment, on some mattress with Scott pressed up behind him and Allison, Lydia and Isaac sitting semi-circle around them, he had a few moments of not remembering anything that had happened. Was he sick? Did he drink too much and pass out? Where the fuck were they?

Before he could ask, Derek had walked into the room. His eyes flickered when he saw Stiles – with sadness, relief, something that couldn’t be placed at the time – and Stiles felt his stomach drop with the weight of what came rushing back to him. His body shuddered with realization and Scott had huddled closer, thinking he was shivering from the January cold wafting into the unheated apartment.  

“It’s okay,” Scott had sweetly lied to him, wrapping his arm further around Stiles and giving him a gentle squeeze. “We got you buddy.”

 

 

 

They lived in the apartment for three more weeks until Derek suggested they go south. Power was gone throughout most of the town and their afternoons were spent watching roamers decimate the middle school across the street.

“I heard there are camps down south. Some even have running water.”

Allison looked sceptical. “You heard where?”

Derek’s eyes narrowed. “Around.”

Allison sat up and looked around the room, as if Derek’s mysterious source would reveal itself.

Scott chewed his lip. “We can’t stay here for much longer. We’ve barely got any food left and it’s a matter of time until those roamers get bored of that school.”

Isaac glanced nervously at Lydia who had been quietly talking to a wall about black hole thermodynamics for the last half an hour.

“Can she..?” Isaac trailed off.

Derek shrugged. “We can’t let that determine our decisions. It isn’t safe here. We have to go whether she is ready or not.”

 Allison’s face turned thunderous. “If you think for one fucking second we are leaving –”

 Derek held up his hands. “I didn’t say that. I’m just saying she’ll have to make due. We all will.” 

Allison still looked like she could barely restrain herself from spitting in Derek’s face.

“Lyds will be okay,” Scott said optimistically. He reached over to pat her on her on the back. “Right?”

Lydia recoiled at his touch, stumbling to her feet and crashing into the coffee table in front of her, causing a mug to falling crashing to the floor. Her eyes were wild and she looked at Scott like she’d never seen him in her life. She fled to the master bedroom, stumbling over the ceramic shards.

“Fuck,” Scott whispered.

“Jesus Scott,” Allison groaned. “You know you can’t touch her from behind like that she’ll –”

“I know I know I FORGOT okay, sorry –” Scott got to his feet to go after her, but Allison pushed him back down.

“I got it,” she muttered, stalking away. “Just clean the mess up.”

 

 

 

They had two days to pack, bringing things so heavy and useless to them Stiles was surprised everyone human didn’t die within the first week. He debated with Scott how many towels were reasonable to carry and the answer, of course, was zero but how the fuck were they to know that? All their hopes riding on some mystical land of hot showers and bubbles baths. They didn’t know yet what it was like to walk so far and for so long that blackened toenails and skin rubbed clean off was a daily result. They didn’t know what it was like to be so hungry that when you finally found food, you puked it up because your body no longer knew how to digest it effectively. They didn’t know those things, and Stiles smiled in fond memory of how beautiful that was, and held those conversations regarding Ziploc baggies, floss and nail clippers deep within himself and eventually, when he got over his outrage of what profound morons they were, let himself be comforted by the people they once were.   

Derek found him sitting alone in the kitchen the night before they left, fiddling with the backpacks they had stuffed to the brim. Some of the bags were packed so full that Stiles thought if he touched it the wrong way it would go off like a bomb full of cans of soup.

 Stiles saw Derek’s darkened form in the corner of his eye and he startled so much that he almost knocked the backpack off the counter.

“Shit,” he breathed. “You scared me.”

 Derek nodded, like he was confirming what had just happened. “What’re you doing?”

“Nothing, just…not really tired yet. Thinking.”

Derek nodded again. “Right.”

Then there was an awkward pause, which was weird, because Derek didn’t really do awkward pauses. He relayed or received the information he needed in as few words as possible, and then would immediately move on to something more worthy of his time. Instead he was standing in front of Stiles, eyes moving almost nervously across him and then back down to the floor.

“I,” Derek started. He opened and shut his mouth, face creasing with frustrating. “Before we go tomorrow. I want to do. I want to tell you something. I need to.”

Stiles lifted his eyebrows. “Oh….kay?”

Derek exhaled sharply, frowning. “I….I want you to smell like me.”

“Uh,” Stiles blinked. He could’ve thought of 500 different things for Derek to say to him in that situation and that was not even approaching a single one of them. “Sorry, what?” 

“It will help protect you.” Derek’s voice was tight, like he was angry at someone. “The roamers don’t like the wolf smell, so it could help protect you. Isaac gave Lydia some of his clothing to wear tomorrow. Allison already has Scott’s scent. I heard them talking, they were going to mention it to you in the morning. Just.” Derek’s gaze briefly averted towards the floor. When he lifted his head back up his eyes flashed red. “I don’t want you to smell like them. Like Scott or Isaac.” 

Stiles swallowed, thick. Things between him and Derek were weirdly complicated, they always had been, and Stiles was still thrown by it. He was used to people being pretty direct regarding their feelings about him and lately Derek had been anything but. Some days it seemed like he could barely stand to be near Stiles, like his mere presence was agony. Other days he seemed to find every opportunity to be standing near him, brushing his hand against Stiles back at weird moments, evaluating his every move. It would make his heart pound so hard that Isaac and Scott would turn to look at him with worry. “Derek you are giving Stiles a heart attack,” Isaac would say sweetly, even though it made Stiles want to punch Isaac in his stupid, pretty face.

“Okay,” Stiles finally responded to Derek’s request dumbly. He desperately rationalized. “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Maybe it’s safer to spread the scents out, shows the roamers there’s more than one wolf hanging around?” 

“No, that’s not why.” 

Stiles closed his eyes. Derek’s refusal to lie, even when the opportunity was handed to him on a silver platter, was astounding. “Okay. Well…okay.”

Suddenly Derek was inches away from him and Stiles felt face flush, probably obvious even in the dark, and his heart started to jackhammer.

Derek’s eyes ran up and down Stiles. “I scare you.”

“No, no!” Stiles insisted too loudly. “It’s not like that! You just…”

“Can I touch you?” 

“What?” Stiles wondered if he was hallucinating, maybe the stress and trauma had finally just cracked him wide open.

“I want to show you something. It will help you understand.”

Derek raised his hand, where they both could see it and carefully lowered it towards Stiles' arm, studying his face as he did so. Stiles expected his heart to explode clear out of his chest at the touch, but something warm and calm bloomed in him when Derek’s fingers curled around his wrist. His mouth opened, to voice his surprise, but as the sensation spread he could only close his eyes and exhaled shakily. Derek’s grip was firm but not forceful and it felt like all Stiles’ anxiety and sadness was being siphoned away through the spot he touched.

“Oh,” Stiles murmured, tipping forward until his forehead rested on Derek’s shoulder.

“I don’t want to,” Derek said low in his ear. “I don't want to scare you.”

Stiles suddenly found his mouth difficult to operate and it took him a few seconds to compile a response. “You seem okay with scaring everyone else.”

Derek laughed, something Stiles could count on one hand he had heard Derek do up until that point, and brought his other hand up to the base of Stiles’ neck. Stiles had to restrain himself from moaning into Derek’s shoulder.

“What’re you doing?” Stiles managed to ask, though he was apprehensive of the answer.

“Calming you. I keep hearing you at night.”

If Stiles hadn’t been blissed out of his mind he would have been embarrassed. Instead he just wondered if Derek was referring to the nightmares, or the random crying jags he couldn’t control (sometimes one following the other). It didn’t seem to matter much right then and Stiles nuzzled into Derek’s shoulder and breathed his scent in deeply. He felt gloriously stoned.

“This is a wolf thing?” Stiles asked sleepily. “You can all do it?” 

“Not to everyone.”

“Gotta be special?” Stiles mumbled. His eyes were closed but he was pretty sure Derek smiled again.

“Sort of, yes. There needs to be a bond.”

Stiles was pretty fucked up but even that confused him. “We gotta bond? Pack bond?”

Derek shifted a little and Stiles mumbled in protest. “Yes,” he finally said quietly. “That is part of it.”

Stiles may have been high out of his mind at that point, but he wasn’t stupid. “Not just that though, right? Something else. You’re not saying. Is that why you’re so weird about me? Thought you hated me.”

Derek flinched. “Stiles. Not at all. It’s complicated.” 

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“Or you and me?”

“That too.”

“Cause I’m human?”

Derek sighed but in a way that might have been his twisted version of playful. Stiles wondered if this was getting him stoned too. “That’s part of it.”

Stiles let his thoughts drift through the hours of reading he had done on werewolf communities and hierarchy and forms of communication, trying to piece together whatever Derek was hesitant to say. Suddenly Derek’s hand dropped from the back of Stiles neck and he moved to curl his arm around his waist instead. Derek lifted him off the chair in one fluid motion, like he was made of hollow bones and feathers. In two strides they were at the couch which Derek collapsed onto, pulling Stiles down with him.

“Are you still scared?” Derek asked carefully, even though they both knew he wasn’t.

Stiles immediately tangled his fingers up with Derek’s, knocking their knees together as he pulled himself up, messily trying to make as much body contact as possible before the sensation of his touch died away. He laid his head down on Derek’s chest, revelling in the feeling.  “I might be when I stop tripping werewolf balls." Stiles said wrly. "I don’t think I’ve ever seen you even hug somebody before. Didn’t think you were the touchy-feely type.” 

Derek tilted his head. “I’m not.”

Stiles tilted his head up to catch Derek’s eye. “What’s this then?”  
  
Derek met his gaze. “Different.”

Stiles’ brain de-fogged just long enough for the correct term to reveal itself to him. _Pair bonding_. 

Maybe something in Stiles’ expression changed, or Derek was somehow able to read his mind (Stiles still wondered this) but Derek’s face shifted as soon as he recalled the term. 

“Oh,” Stiles said softly in realization. “We are….I am your…” 

 “Not if you don’t want to be,” Derek said immediately.

“I get a choice?”

Derek looked wounded. Stiles felt his stomach twist up in the understanding that he somehow had the power to affect _Derek’s_ _feelings._ He had been pretty certain Derek didn’t even have those up until about five minutes ago. “Yes. You do.” 

“Why me though? I mean, I’m….” Stiles trailed off.“Why didn’t you tell me before? You didn’t just figure this out right?”

“Things were different. I mean, you were just a kid. You…you still kind of are but,” Derek paused. “Things have changed. I wanted to tell you for a long time. Some days I could barely contain myself around you. Even smelling you across the apartment was too much. I needed to make sure you were…ready to know.” 

“I am now?”

 Derek nodded.

“Cause of the roamers? Cause of my Dad?” Stiles asked faintly. Stiles hadn’t even been able to say the word _Dad_ since it happened.

 Derek tilted his head so his cheek pressed against the top of Stiles’ head. “When that happens,” Derek started softly. “When you lose them, you change. You grow up. You have to.” 

 _You would know_ Stiles thought and found himself squeezing Derek’s arm, like he might slip away from underneath him. “Why do I feel like I’m on heroin when you touch me like this?” 

“It’s a bonding endorphin. When there’s an…attraction. It reinforces it.” 

“You’re attracted to me?” Stiles asked in amazement.

 “It needs to be mutual,” Derek said almost smirking. It was going to take Stiles a while to get used to Derek doing any form of smiling.

“Jesus,” Stiles said. “Someone should figure out how to bottle this shit.”

“It won’t be this strong forever. It fades. It will always be nice though.”

“What?”

“Touching you. It will keep you calm, make you feel safe. It has the same effect on me.” 

Stiles heard _always_ ringing in his ears, and in his total confusion, his bliss, his loneliness, the desperate ache of missing his Dad still all over him, he lifted his head up and risked the few seconds of separation. His kissed Derek as hard as he could, even though it was sloppy and unfocused, but Derek was ready, as he always was. Stiles wanted to apologize for how dumb he was, how he really had very little kissing practice, how he was barely able to coordinate any of his movements. It didn’t seem to matter. Derek adjusted him gently, tilting his head down so they could meet more easily. When Derek kissed back, patient and careful - he obviously knew what he was doing - it didn’t belie the intensity behind it.

“Fuck,” Stiles gasped happily when he had a second to breathe. “You are – do you – do you even know what you look like?” He finally asked dumbly. “You are beautiful. That isn’t even the bonding drugs talking. I mean obviously I’m going to find….I’m…but you?”

His head was spinning and Derek propped himself up. He tangled his fingers in the back of Stiles’ overgrown hair and pulled, just slightly, so Stiles would lean back and expose his neck. It was the most aggressive thing he had done so far, but he could’ve popped his fangs at that point and Stiles wouldn’t have minded. Derek’s mouth found his way there and Stiles’ dick, pretty much half hard from the moment Derek had touched his wrist he was sad to admit, became painful constrained against the material of his jeans. “You want a list?” Derek mumbled against him. He had started biting down, just gently, trying to gauge how Stiles reacted. “Of my reasons?”

“I-” Stiles’ breath hitched again as Derek’s broad hands moved to his chest, rubbing circles, gathering the fabric of Stiles’ shirt between his fingers. _Obviously_ he wanted a list, but his entire focus had been delegated to not coming in his pants at that very second. 

“You’re good in ways I’m not,” Derek breathed against him. He tugged the bunched fabric of Stiles shirt away from his jeans. “Ways I can’t be. Don’t know how to be.” His fingers were hot across Stiles’ stomach, dipping just slightly below the top of his jeans. Stiles bucked his hips at the touch.

“Derek I’m gonna –”

Derek cut him off by kissing him hard, his fingers popping the button on his jeans open. “I’m going to jerk you off,” he told him simply. “Tell me if I should stop.”

That sounded totally fucking insane to Stiles, but he didn’t have long to consider it. Derek had his fly open, and his pants and underwear were dragged halfway down his legs. His brushed the top of Stiles’ ass before he kneed Stiles legs apart, gripping the base of Stiles cock. Stiles choked out a sound that every living thing left in the building probably heard. Derek moved his other hand to the back of Stiles head, guiding him down so his sounds would be muffled against Derek’s chest. Stiles squirmed on top him, the bare skin of his hips being rubbed raw by Derek’s belt but the pleasure too overwhelming for him to take much notice. It only took three strokes of Derek’s fist before Stiles was coming all over his leg, body trembling. He had been using every bit of energy he had to hold himself up, so Derek had access to his dick. Now he felt paralyzed from exhaustion. He collapsed back down, his come on Derek’s pants feeling warm and sticky against his bare thigh.

Derek gave him a moment to stay like that, splayed out on top of him, before he sat up, easily flipping Stiles onto his back. 

Stiles would have protested, or tried to help, but he was wrecked, still high from Derek’s touch, slowly coming down off his orgasm. Derek didn’t seem to mind. He pulled Stiles pants the rest of the way off, tossing them to the ground in a crumpled heap. He gingerly pulled Stiles forward to get his shirt off as well, adding that to the pile. He stood briefly to step away from the couch, a movement to which Stiles, now naked, cold and despairingly not touching Derek, whimpered in protest. Derek returned with one of the blankets they had decided not to pack and wrapped it around Stiles. Stiles watched as Derek threw his cum stained jeans down onto the pile of clothing, peeling off his shirt as well.

Stiles had seen Derek in a state of undress before, and had failed in attempts to not admire him (and really failed to not think about it when jerking off), but it was different now. Derek’s skin gleamed with perspiration, from the effort of jerking Stiles off.

Derek climbed behind him on the couch and Stiles clumsily reached for Derek, wanting to repay the favour, but Derek swiftly moved his hands away, intertwining their fingers.

“Later,” he whispered, promising. He curled himself behind Stiles, the skin contact making Stiles agreeable. “Hey. Never finished your list. One ‘bout me.”

Derek’s fingers brushed against the scratches on Stiles’ hips. “I’ll tell you soon. Promise.”

Stiles closed his eyes and felt the steady thump of Derek’s heart against his back. 

Stiles smiled. “Your heart. I can feel it. Now we’re the same.” 

Derek tightened his grip on Stiles’ hand. 


	3. Chapter 3

_Please dear_

_Please dear be sure of us and ours_

_Don’t fear_

_Don’t fear the worst in case it comes._

 

 

Isaac was almost as good as Allison with the bow. She teasingly called him her protégée, which never failed to make him beam with satisfaction. She had tried training the others but Stiles’ hands shook too much, Scott was impatient and Derek was unable to take instruction from Allison without at least one of them getting pissed off. No one was comfortable combining Lydia and long-range weapons yet. Isaac, however, was a perfect student. He listened rapturously to Allison’s every word and accepted criticism like it was water. Something about that fact made Stiles’ stomach ache, but the end result was that they had an excellent marksman. 

They had left the Pit almost a month ago, when the roamers started encroaching on the clearing where their shelter was located and it began taking daily excursions to fend them off. They were deep in the woods now, relying on Lydia’s good days and the compass to take them further south. They hadn’t seen a roamer for almost a week, but Derek refused to let them get too comfortable with that fact. The two tents and four sleeping bags they had were taken from a destroyed camp less than 30 miles north.

The woods had become entirely unaccommodating, as deep in as they were. The thicket was so dense that it often took them hours to walk a mile. Derek, Scott and Isaac did their best to clear pathways, tearing apart thousands of branches all seemingly woven together to a form a near impenetrable wall, but after only a few hours of effort their claws would start to splinter. They weren’t healing as fast as they used to anymore.

However, they started seeing wild animals for the first time in months. Originally Derek and Scott had made attempts to go hunt down whatever game they could find themselves, but the kills were messy and the meat tasted off.

Stiles woke one morning to find Allison poised just outside of the tent, bow pulled taut. Two arrows flew, mere seconds apart, and that was the day Stiles spent three hours with Lydia trying to figure out how to skin and butcher rabbit. After that, Derek and Scott were officially retired from their hunting duties. Most days Allison or Isaac were able to catch them at least one rabbit, usually more, and when luck was on their side a pheasant would fly by. They built small fires to cook the meat, counting on roamers to longer be much of an immediate danger. It had been a long time since they were used to such a constant, hearty supply of food and it made them sleepier and slower than they usually were, the ache of hunger no longer constantly buzzing in the background. If they were going to die, Stiles often thought while dozing off after consuming as much as his body would physically allow him to, at least it would be on full stomachs. 

Isaac started waking before dawn to hunt. Allison said it was the best time but Scott could barely be roused before midday back then, and tended to be cranky or panicked if he woke without her nearby. Isaac happily volunteered to go by himself, he said he enjoyed that time of the day, when the world was so still he could actually hear himself breathe. He said it reminded him of camping with his Dad when he was little.

He was probably safe on his own, but Stiles often found himself rising early to go along with Isaac. Stiles would gather up all their water bottles and do his own hunting for fresh water. Isaac’s face always lit up a little when Stiles clambered out of the tent after him, so he knew Isaac didn’t mind the company.

With Isaac, Stiles learned how to move quietly. He had always been loud, especially as a kid, his verbosity encouraged by his mother. Even in school, when it got him irritated looks and a reputation for being annoying, that hadn’t been enough to dissuade him. He had been clumsy too, all awkward movements that he was forever running his own sarcastic commentary on. It was only now, when their hunger and lives were on the line, that Stiles started to value silence.

Isaac, however, had been well schooled in the art of existing without making a sound. He was almost fox-like in manner, swift and light on his feet, when they walked it didn’t even sound like he was breathing. His prey never suffered a moment of fear before he killed them; he never let them suspect his presence. When he approached his kills, it was with the same soundlessness. He would carry the game gently, without malevolence or even pride. The look on his face, solemn gratefulness, made Stiles feel very, very young somehow.

 

 

It was halfway through their senior year, when Stiles had been doing everything in how power to get Isaac to pass his calculus final with hopes he would graduate on time (the fact that he was still in school at all at that point was kind of a miracle). when the first reports of the virus broke. Isaac had studied his phone in confusion, reading the rapidly blinking news alerts. 

“Look,” he had mouthed to Stiles, sliding his phone across the table.

_ROA-1M VIRUS HAS SPREAD THROUGHOUT CHINA AND SOUTH ASIA, POSSIBLE CASES IN EASTERN EUROPE AND IN NORTH AFRICA NOW BEING REPORTED. ALL FLIGHTS TO AND FROM NORTH AMERICA ARE DELAYED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE._

“What the fuck?” Stiles had hissed loudly to Isaac. “Thought they were making a vaccine or something for this thing. This is crazy.” 

_EARLY SYMPTOMS OF ROA-1M INCLUDE HEADACHE, FEVER AND LOSS OF CONSCIOUSNESS. INDIVIDUALS INCUBATING THE VIRUS HAVE ALSO SHOWN PRESENTATION OF VIOLENT, “RABID” BEHAVIOUR AND THE LOSS OF HIGHER COGNITIVE FUNCTIONING. INDIVIDUALS OVER THE AGE OF 40 HAVE BEEN FOUND TO BE PARTICULARLY VULNERABLE. IF YOU SUSPECT AN INDIVIDUAL MAY BE INFECTED, PLEASE DO NOT APPROACH AND IMMEDIATELY CONTACT 911 OR THE BEACON HILLS PUBLIC HEALTH CENTRE._

It sickened Stiles to recall it now, but his heart had thumped with the sheer excitement and bizarreness of it all. Isaac had looked sombre. 

“Wonder if werewolves are vulnerable?” Stiles had teased, hoping to make him look less serious. “Shit, maybe we’ll get a couple weeks off school!”

Isaac turned to study him for a moment and eventually gave him a sad half-smile. A patient, knowing smile Stiles would think. Isaac had been kind in his sudden understanding that, for all his bravado and academic inclination, Stiles really knew nothing at all.   

 

 

Stiles and Isaac would return to the camp well past dawn, with breakfast and fresh ground water for the day. Usually by that point Derek or Allison would have started a fire, which Lydia fastidiously maintained.

The plan was to keep moving south, but they had no idea what they were walking into anymore. Derek no longer held assumptions about what each new trip would bring them, or where the safest harbours might be. The goal was to keep everyone alive. To hold onto hope that somewhere, some place on earth, there was a vaccine or the potential for a vaccine. That if they held out long enough, that if they kept themselves afloat, they would awake one morning to find that the world had promise again. Now, they were walking for a day or two tops until they could find a comfortable enough camping spot, often resting there for over a week at a time.

“Biding our time,” Derek would say. Biding it until they reached the other end of the woods.  Heaven or hell could have awaited them and they would’ve had no idea, along with no ability to properly prepare for either. Stiles figured it was safest to expect the worst and go from there.

They were two days into an off week, stuffing themselves full of rabbit, spending nights listening to Lydia rattle off every constellation she could remember, when Allison and Scott found it.

They had wandered off somewhere together, probably to fuck, though at that point there was no going back from the level of detail everyone knew about Allison and Scott’s sex life (though it was probably not too different for him and Derek, but Stiles dried not to dwell on it).  Scott tore into the camp site, his whooping echoing around them. 

“You guys!” Scott yelped when he arrived, shaking the tent that Isaac and Lydia were napping in, post rabbit binge. “You guys you fucking have to see this!” Scott tripped over a pack in his enthusiasm and a bottle rolled unnervingly close to the fire. 

Derek’s brow furrowed. “See what?”

“Put the fire out, come with me.”

“Me?”  
  
“Everyone!” He said, shaking the tent again. Isaac stumbled out, tousled hair and sleepy eyes. “Wasswrong?” He asked, rubbing his face. 

“Nothing – Lydia! Lyds!”

Lydia grumpily emerged, fussing with her slightly mussed braid. Stiles sometimes wished they would come across lip gloss, just so he could have the nostalgia and comfort of watching her use it. “What?” She muttered, clutching her book on polymer chemistry to her chest. “I’m busy!' 

Scott was practically dancing on the spot from excitement. “Hurry, Allison is waiting!”

“You left her there?” Derek sounded disapproving.

“Just for a minute – she has the bow. You guys COME ON!” With that he pulled Isaac to his feet, and took off with him, almost at full wolf speed.

Stiles watched them go, wondering how that could still annoy him after all this time. “Okay, if you want those with slightly less physical prowess to join you, slow the fuck down!” He hollered, ignoring Lydia’s protests by grabbing her hand and jogging after them.

Scott slowed a little, but even through the trees obscuring his view, Stiles could tell he was almost vibrating with excitement.

Derek caught up to them after a few moments, looking not particularly pleased about the situation, but not willing to be left out of the loop.

“If we go back and all our gear is stolen –”

“By who, the bunnies?” Lydia muttered, gingerly climbing over a fallen log. Derek rolled his eyes a little, but his protests quieted.

The forest started to clear a bit. The knots of leaves and twigs lessened and their speed picked up. This part of the forest was greener, thick with moss, and the buzzing with birds overhead startled Stiles. It had been a long time since he’d heard so many at once.

Then, they reached a clearing. A small one, nothing like area where the Pit used to be, but a tiny opening where the trees seemed to bow aside, as if they were making room for something they had deemed worthy. Stiles turned to help pull Lydia through the last of the trees when he heard her gasp. Not in horror or in pain or in panic but in delight. In pure, enthralled, happiness.

“Stiles!” She whispered, gripping his shoulder tight. 

He pulled her into the clearing and turned. He was never much of an outdoors kid growing up, but a newfound understanding of nature had been force on him in the past year and a half – mostly to respect what it could give and, even more, what it could take. He had been forced to battle it, day in and day out, and when it offered him form of kindness, the slightest mercy on his fragile body, he was thankful. So when he took in the sight of the beautiful pond before them, complete with lush plants and blue-green water lapping at a rocky shore, he was almost breathless with gratitude. It looked untouched, like they were perhaps the first in a very long time to stumble upon it. 

“SEE?” Scott crowed back at them. Allison was already in the water, long, pale limbs gleaming in the afternoon sun. Isaac was practically falling out of his clothes in his rush to join her.

Stiles, briefly, could not help but wonder if they had all finally succumbed to the elements or the virus. Maybe some higher being had recognized all their suffering and decided to reward them for their good efforts in the afterlife. A tiny, little paradise that they could live in together forever. He almost smiled at that, at the relief of no longer having to fear death, but he quickly stopped himself before he let that fantasy unravel any further. He didn’t believe in God. Or, at the very least, he was not willing to accept gifts from any sort of deity that enabled a world in which he had to shoot his own father point blank in the head in order to live another day. 

Derek’s hand on Stiles’ back took him out of his stupor. He hadn’t moved yet and Lydia had long since dropped his hand and taken off towards the water. She was now inspecting the rocks and loudly informing everyone what different plant species were growing around the pond. Isaac, Allison and Scott were laughing and screaming, involved in some game where the main goal seemed to be to half-drown each other.

Derek’s fingers brushed under his shirt. “You okay?” He asked.

“Yeah,” Stiles said, letting Derek steady him. “It’s beautiful.”

Derek nodded. “It is.” 

They moved towards the pond, peeling off clothing as they went. Stiles pushed all tempting thoughts of water-borne bacteria out of his mind and tried to remember what it was like to do something for no other reason than it was fun. To not fear any consequences and to just take in the moment, as it was.

Derek surprised him by stripping fast and half tacking Scott once he dove into the pond. Scott yelped in protest as Derek dragged him down under for a couple seconds (it was a weird Alpha thing he did once in a while, casually reminding the more uppity of his Betas that he could totally kill him if he felt like it) before lifting him back out and throwing him halfway across the pond.

Scott sputtered to the surface and Allison, who Isaac was now using as a human shield, was laughing so hard she could barely focus enough to keep herself afloat. Even Lydia was giggling from the shore.

“Get in!” Allison yelled to Stiles. Stiles had to actually whisper _fuck everything_ to himself before tearing his own clothes off and jumping in after them. The pond was freezing, his heart clenched when he hit the surface, but a moment later Isaac clambered onto his back, weightless in the water, and the drowning game resumed. 

To Stiles, that afternoon felt like a hallucination. A weird, unreal moment of serenity, bookended by otherwise overwhelming and haunting memories. It was a reminder, a brief one, that they were not ruined. That if civilization ever managed to return, perhaps they could find their way back to it. Pieces of their former selves hid somewhere within, a hidden mess of childhood games, cookie recipes and favourite movies, waiting to emerge once again. It could happen. There was hope for them.

He felt Derek move behind him in the water, his arm suddenly tight around Stiles’ waist, his mouth soft against the back of his neck. It was an uncommon public display of affection for him and Stiles turned to catch his eye in surprise.  

Derek returned his look with a smile, the rare sort that made Stiles’ stomach twist up that combination of love and agony that only Derek could elicit from him. “You’re happy,” Derek said simply. “I can feel it.”

Stiles smiled and let himself lean back, head resting on Derek’s shoulder, legs rising to the surface of the water. “Yeah?” He asked, even though he was well aware of how attuned Derek was to his emotions. Derek was holding on so tight, Stiles didn’t even have to bother to keep himself afloat anymore. “Is it a good feeling?”

Derek nipped at his neck again, trailing kisses up to his ear and pushing his fingers against Stiles’ ribs so he would squirm in reaction. “The greatest,” he whispered. He bit, gently, with only the slightest bit of fang exposed, under Stiles’ ear. In all the times he had done that, Derek never once broke the skin or injured him (beyond what Stiles sometimes asked him to), but arousal flooded his system and almost instantly, his dick swelled in response. Derek palmed at it experimentally and soon, he was hauling him Stiles of the water, blatantly ignoring Allison and Scott’s catcalls.

They tripped through the forest trying to find a suitable spot. It wasn’t like fucking in the woods was a new experience to them, but Derek seemed even more impatient than usual, as if he too feared that moment would slip away from them before they were done with it.  

He hoisted Stiles up again without so much as a breath of exertion, pulling at his legs to help secure them around his waist. Derek’s kisses were dirty, all tongue, and became more vicious when Stiles moaned his encouragement. He soon felt his back pressed against the bark of a tree and winced into Derek’s mouth, already knowing how the scrapes would feel in the morning. He thought about how Derek would later trace each one of them, lovingly, resting his palms across his back to try and help Stiles sleep and reduce the burn. It made them hard to regret.

Stiles’ body responded so fast to Derek now, his senses so sharply accustomed with his mate’s movements, that sometimes Derek teased that he must have wolf relatives. Humans were notoriously slow at catching on, even when wolves took them on as mates but Stiles was almost embarrassingly receptive. Sometimes he would catch Derek watching him from across the room, in a vaguely predatory way, with a look in his eye that meant if someone else touched Stiles, at that second, he might not be able to control his own reaction. The look made Stiles’ dick hard instantly and a heat spread in his belly, made him desperate to give Derek whatever he needed, to show him that he had been properly claimed.

Derek’s fist pumped his cock a few times, coating his fingers with Stiles’ pre-come. He bit slowly, purposefully, marking a half-moon shape just above Stiles’ nipple. Derek’s fingers lower, circling his hole, then spreading him open to slide in. The pleasant burn causing Stiles to lean back quickly, knocking his head into the tree. Derek stopped, briefly, free hand brushing against Stiles’ temple to make sure he wasn’t actually injured and Stiles moaned in protest at the delay.

Drunk grunted low, promising, and a third finger found its way inside of him, but Stiles was ready, had been forever probably, and squeezed his legs around Derek, gasping “Now, I’m good, now!” Derek, who didn’t usually take orders particularly well, huffed out a growl against Stiles’ chest, but soon Derek’s fingers were gone and the head of his dick was slipping in.

Stiles hips bucked and he slipped down slightly, bark biting into his back at the movement (he’d actually regret that later) but Derek held him steady, pinning him tighter and pulling his left leg up so he had better access to him and filling him to the hilt. Stiles choked out his satisfaction, at the release of not having to hold himself up, knowing Derek could carry his weight, and would press him into the tree enough to hurt, but never any harder than he knew Stiles could take. Derek’s thrusts were steady now, bursts of pleasure sparking up his spine at every movement. 

Derek nuzzled into Stiles’ neck, sensing his orgasm approaching. The slight scrape of fangs, the hot breath of his encouragement, of how Stiles was _his_ , how he was so beautiful that he would never stop needing to mark him, claim him, was enough to push Stiles over the edge. Derek fucked into him hard as he came, and just as the bliss of his own orgasm began to dissipate, felt the warmth of Derek’s release within him. Derek slumped forever, pressing one palm against the tree, his other arm still holding Stiles secure. When he moved them away from the tree, his palm immediately went to Stiles’ back, honing in on the scrape causing Stiles the most discomfort. Derek pulled out of him slowly and Stiles shuddered at the loss, suddenly uncertain of his ability to support his own weight if he had to. Derek held him steady, eyes searching Stiles’ face.  Even in his post-fuck daze, Stiles’ heart faltered. Derek, beautiful and strong, Derek who _loved_ _him_ , Derek who was his mate. Derek who held him there, longer than he had to, Derek whose hands were already spread across the most painful of his cuts.

When Derek leaned up to kiss him, it was soft and grateful, and Stiles felt with every inch of his body that he was entirely, completely and brutally alive. He wasn’t sorry for it, either. 

 

 

 

They could never find the pond again.

Isaac went out for his morning hunt and when he returned, only one rabbit in hand this time, a frown was etched on his face. “I went straight east – like we did before. I just…it wasn’t there. I couldn’t find it.”

They searched for at least three weeks, taking multiple, wasteful trips to locate it, but it forever eluded them. Lydia even spent days with compass, her accuracy generally close to perfect, but always to no avail.

Eventually Derek had to declare it a lost cause and insisted that they had to move on. The presence of animals in that part forest was starting to dwindle, probably as a result of their newly generous appetites. They walked south, with no intentions of stopping, ready to find out what would greet them on the other side of the forest.

Stiles walked side by side with Scott, Isaac and Allison in the front, Derek and Lydia bringing up the back. Scott seemed most troubled by their inability to find the pond again, like he had personally failed them all in some way. Every few miles Stiles would bump his shoulder into Scott’s, to remind him that Stiles was beside him. That whatever happened, he was still there, right alongside him.

“Maybe we dreamt it up,” Scott said to him. “Maybe none of it was real. 

Stiles reached up and pressed his fingers into the thin cotton his shirt, tracing the hardened line of a scab down his own back.

“Maybe,” Stiles said. 


End file.
